


Perfect

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: basically just porn





	

Marcus adored Sherlock’s idea of what a relationship should be.

The thing about Sherlock was that he saw everything, and– his emotional constipation aside– he was generally aware of everything that Marcus felt. But he allowed Marcus dignity and privacy, and gave him emotional space enough to deal with his own crap. He knew that Marcus prided himself on keeping his own shit in order, and that too much prying and nagging made Marcus feel claustrophobic. He also, much to Marcus’ relief, did not feel the need to air his own dirty laundry on a daily basis. Marcus believed wholeheartedly in an old world, where men kept their problems to themselves unless they genuinely needed help. And the nature of their relationship suited them both perfectly; Sherlock didn’t enjoy opening up unless he was in a seriously bad place, and Marcus generally preferred to enjoy life, rather than wallow in negatives.

Their work for the NYPD provided them with enough misery to last a lifetime. It was mutually decided, in some kind of unanimous unspoken way, that they did not need to bring their baggage into the bedroom.

Phrased that way, one might assume all they had was sex, but that would’ve been untrue. What they shared was an undefined relationship based on similar needs, genuine attraction, and a friendship that had grown into something more without losing the mutual respect that had made their platonic connection so strong in the first place. They knew what each other needed, but both operated with full knowledge of what they themselves needed.

What they had? It was perfect.

 

***

 

They lay in bed, not speaking.

It was like this often. They’d finish a case, and Sherlock would be buzzing with deductions, or tired with sleeplessness, or angry at the injustice of how a suspect had been handled; whatever the reason, Marcus would follow him back to the brownstone and fuck him into the mattress. They never discussed it, because they didn’t need to. Neither of them wanted to. What they wanted was a good time, and they took it without any regret or emotional burden.

“You really are tremendously gifted,” Sherlock murmured, gazing at the ceiling, “sexually, I mean.”

Marcus chuckled quietly, folded his arms behind his head. “Ain’t that the reason you’re seein’ me?”

“Well, yes. That is one of the reasons.”

“Wanna clue me in on the others?”

“I wasn’t aware this evening was to be an ego-trip for you.”

“Yeah, well,” Marcus was grinning now, enjoying the carefree banter, “man’s gotta know his perks, right?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Don’t pretend you aren’t entirely aware of your ‘perks’, Marcus. You’re the most self-aware man I’ve ever met.”

“Call me curious, then. Why’d you front up to me, that day, and ask me to sleep with you?”

“Because I knew you’d say yes.”

Marcus turned his head, and raised an impressed eyebrow. “You were that sure?”

Sherlock turned his head too, and smiled slyly. “I was.”

“You cocky bastard.”

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed, leaning over to kiss him, “I know for a fact that you find my _cockiness_ to be supremely attractive.”

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Marcus laughed, reaching over to curl his hand around Sherlock’s neck, stroke a thumb over his jugular, “Are you like this with everyone you fuck?”

“Not everyone. Sometimes, I’m gagged.”

“ _Aside_ from when you can’t speak, I mean,” Marcus muttered against his mouth, deepening the kiss, eyes falling closed as he felt the silky heat of Sherlock’s tongue. He felt himself getting hard again, and he shifted closer to Sherlock.

“Mm… no,” Sherlock murmured, voice low and quiet, the wet sound of their lips interrupting his low voice, “this boldness is all for you.”

Marcus rolled on top of him and slid his arms around Sherlock, holding him close, bringing his hips down in a slow grind. Sherlock moved against him and Marcus ran a hand down his bare chest.

“Fuck me.” Sherlock breathed.

“So demandin’.” Marcus slid down his body, sucking a bruise into his neck, fingers pressing into Sherlock’s skin, Sherlock’s hands against his back. “Why don’t you ever say please?”

“You act as if you aren’t going to give me what I want,” Sherlock said, as he arched his hips up, his desires plainly evident, “when you obviously will.”

“Yeah?” Marcus kissed his hip, biting down slowly, because he knew it was close to what Sherlock needed, but not close enough. He slid his hand up Sherlock’s cock, stroking him into hardness with deliberately unhurried movements.

“Yes,” the barest edge of frustration and need crept into Sherlock’s voice, as he sensed the game that Marcus was playing, “because you want to satisfy yourself.”

“Who says what I want is the same as what you want? You're makin' an assumption there."

“I _know_ that’s the case, I'm not _assuming_ anything.”

“You shouldn’t be so damn sure all the time. Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe,” Marcus craned his head, looked up at him, grinned deviously as he let go of Sherlock’s cock, “all I want to do is tie you up, and leave you here. So hard, just waitin' for me,” he spoke slowly, words dripping with sensually low vowels, “unable to get off without me. Maybe, all I wanna do is see you wait. See you beg for it.”

Sherlock glared. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.”

“You’re bluffing, Marcus.”

“I ain’t. I could make you wait for it. Wait for me.”

“And what? Tie me up with rope or handcuffs that you do not currently possess? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I could just leave.” Marcus suggested. “Go beat off at my place, leave you wantin'.”

Sherlock met his eyes, scowling. Neither man moved, as they tried to gauge each other. Sherlock genuinely didn’t know whether Marcus was capable of taking this game of chicken to its finale, didn’t know how far he would go to prove his point, didn’t know whether Marcus was just teasing him to make it so much more satisfying when they fucked later. He couldn’t read the sly expression on Marcus’ face.

He breathed in slowly. Marcus’ mouth, so tantalisingly appealing, was so close to his cock that it was almost unbearable.

“Alright,” Sherlock swallowed, “I’ll beg. I’ll ask you for it.”

Marcus grinned wider. “Beg for what?”

Sherlock felt a tingle of curiosity in his chest. They’d never done this before.

“Please get me off. Please touch me.”

“Reckon you can beg better than that.” Marcus looked down, and Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered as he felt a breath of warm air against his cock.

“Jesus, Marcus,”

“Beg, Sherlock, or I ain’t givin’ you anythin’. Make it convincin’.”

“Please,” Sherlock met his eyes, and felt his heart hammering with the eroticism of this game, the unexpectedness of Marcus’ unapologetic dominance. He couldn’t help the way his legs fell open slightly, his hands tightening in the bedsheets.

“Please touch me, Marcus,” he continued, “and I’ll give you anything you want in return.”

Marcus grinned. “Touch you? How?”

Sherlock wanted to laugh at the obscenity of how far Marcus was taking this, but somehow he couldn’t find it in him to mock how seductive this felt; Marcus’ eyes were dark and lustful, his face full of an excitement that was new and unexplored.

“I want your mouth. On my…” Sherlock paused at the vulgarity of saying the words aloud, a blush rising to his cheeks, “…On my cock.”

“Yeah? What makes you think you deserve that?”

Sherlock glared. “Marcus-”

“Answer. Or I ain’t touchin’ you again tonight.”

“I…” Sherlock struggled to summon an answer to that question, certain that the blood was rushing from his head to another body part entirely, “Because I... will give you what you want, as well. I’ll let you take from me whatever you wish.”

Marcus smirked, his eyes not leaving Sherlock’s. He held the stare for a long while, until Sherlock was fidgeting, worried that Marcus was actually going to get up and leave like he’d threatened; he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t known Marcus had this kind of sexual drive, and he didn’t quite know how to react. He was, quite possibly, the most turned on he’d ever been in his life.

“Marcus,” Sherlock whispered, allowing his voice to dip into breathy exhales, giving in to the weakness that Marcus obviously yearned to see, “please. I want it. I want you.”

For a moment longer, Marcus did not move. Then, he leaned down, pressed his face to Sherlock’s stomach.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous when you beg,” he murmured, and Sherlock let out a shaky sigh of relief when he heard surrender in Marcus’ voice.

“You ought to have shared this kink with me earlier, Marcus, we could’ve…” his voice trailed off, as Marcus swallowed him down in one smooth, practiced motion, “… _shit,_ Marcus _…_ ”

He let his head fall back onto the pillow, a moan building in his throat.

This was the best night he’d had in weeks.

 

***

 

When Sherlock came, Marcus swallowed.

He lay limp, gasping, and felt Marcus lift his legs.

“You alright if I take what I need?” Marcus asked breathlessly, throat raw; for all his games, he cared how Sherlock felt, and knew where boundaries lay between spontaneity and forcefulness. Maybe later, when they’d actually discussed this beforehand and established a safeword, he could be rougher and more impulsive. Until then, he was going to be good.

“Nothing would please me more,” Sherlock replied, voice slurred and dazed. His eyes fell closed, as his body became numb and limp with post-orgasmic bliss. His mouth opened with a shocked cry when Marcus pushed into him. He was tight, though Marcus had already fucked him once today.

“Is this okay?” Marcus asked, voice hoarse.

Sherlock was, suddenly acutely aware of the vulnerability of it all, the intimacy of exposing himself this way. He could feel Marcus deep inside him; he could feel the burn, the stretch, the heat and the pain. It was so good. So unbearably good.

“Sherlock,” Marcus reached down, put a hand to his cheek, “Sherlock, answer me.”

“ _Yes_ , Marcus…” Sherlock gasped, eyes fluttering open, “yes, _please,”_

Marcus’ eyes widened, and Sherlock could see the animal in his face, the carnal ferocity that called within him. And he wanted it. He wanted to be destroyed by it.

“Give it to me,” he whispered, “Give me everything, Marcus.”

 

***

 

Marcus did.

He fucked Sherlock hard, fast, and brutal.

“You alright?” He kept asking, voice low and guttural as he panted against Sherlock’s cheek, “You good?”

“Yes,” Sherlock kept answering, “ _Yes,”_

After a while- not that he was aware of it at the time- he stopped asking. He just held Sherlock down, and fucked him so hard that the bed posts slammed the wall with an aggressiveness to match his own. Sherlock lay there and took it, face slack and full of sated desire, broken moans falling from his open mouth.

Eventually, Marcus came.

He fell forward, panting, shaking as the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced shuddered through him. Sherlock’s hands drifted up to hold him loosely, his fingers splayed like a puppet’s.

“That was,” Sherlock mumbled, “amazing.”

“Shit,” Marcus breathed, face buried in Sherlock’s neck, “ _shit,_ I don’t know where that came from. _”_

“You are, by far, the best person I know, and the best person I have ever slept with,” Sherlock slurred, “I really must regale you with my admiration of you on a more common basis.”

Marcus laughed helplessly. “You’re fuckin’ perfect too.”

“I know.” Sherlock sighed.

Marcus hugged him close, still panting. Everything was warm, slick, raw, and perfect.

He’d never met anyone who affected him as intensely as Sherlock bloody Holmes.

 

 

 


End file.
